


Barrel Of A Gun

by Imoshen



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2019 [40]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Consent is Sexy, FBI Agent Lucifer, Gun play, Human AU, M/M, Mob Boss Michael, Object Insertion, PWP, maybe a teeny tiny bit of plot, offscreen murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 17:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20018539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imoshen/pseuds/Imoshen
Summary: FBI Agent Lucifer Alighieri visits mob boss Michael Milton to talk about a murder. Michael has no idea what Lucifer is referring to, none at all... but he'll take the reward Lucifer has for him nonetheless.





	Barrel Of A Gun

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted to tumblr @mrsimoshen.
> 
> Written for SPN Kink Bingo for the square Object Insertion on my second card.

The white BMW pulling into the drive is Michael Milton’s first clue as to who’s about to pay him a visit. He sets down his fountain pen and carefully sets aside the contracts he was busy signing, making sure the ink is dry and doesn’t smudge. The sound of a car door slamming shut has him look up again, and his heart starts beating faster. The tall, broad-shouldered man striding away from the car confidently is exactly who he hoped was driving the BMW. Michael takes a deep breath and clears his desk of the few things he usually has on it (he’s a neat person, but the very minimalist desk is a statement and sort of a power move in one. His private working space upstairs holds more clutter).

By the time Lucifer Alighieri marches through the heavy oak door to his office, Michael’s desk is entirely bare except for the dark computer screen. Of course, Lucifer doesn’t knock or wait for Michael to bid him enter, instead walking in as if he owns the place. He’s smirking just a little, and it widens as he takes in Michael behind his cleared desk.

“Clearing your desk won’t work in hiding your illegal activities, Mr. Milton.”

Michael raises a single eyebrow, watching Lucifer turn the lock on the door before the FBI Agent saunters to one of the chairs in front of his desk. His gaze catches on the gun holster just visible past the fabric of the suit jacket when Lucifer unbuttons it just before sitting down, and he very carefully does _not_ look at the way the expensive fabric stretches over Lucifer’s crotch when he sprawls in the chair.

“I am sure I have no idea what illegal activities you are referring to, Special Agent Alighieri,” he informs Lucifer. The Agent’s smirk widens even more.

“Oh, so you are going to tell me you have no idea who ordered the hit on Alistair Picasso, Mr. Milton?”

Michael gives a slow blink and smiles. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Special Agent Alighieri,” he assures Lucifer, recalling the wide eyes and disbelieving face of dear old Alistair when Michael plunged the blade into his heart. He’d felt the rush of hot blood even through his leather gloves. “I certainly know nothing about ordering a hit on Alistair Picasso.” It’s not a lie. Michael took great satisfaction in ending the man personally.

Lucifer leans forward, and there’s a spark in his blue eyes Michael recognizes. His heart beats faster in response, and he can feel himself harden in his slacks. “Too bad you don’t know anything about that, Mr. Milton,” the Agent purrs. “I do not like it when you lie to me, Mika.”

Michael tilts his head to the side and smirks, tries to hide the shiver going through him at the low purr. “I am not lying to you, Luc.”

Lucifer laughs, standing. He leaves his suit jacket unbuttoned, and Michael swallows at the shadow of a bulge he can see in Lucifer’s pants. He stays seated and does his best to keep breathing in a calm fashion as the FBI Agent slowly prowls around the desk and behind Michael. The lines between them have been blurred for years by now, but it’s still a small rush to never be entirely sure if today will be the day Lucifer decides Michael’s stepped over one of the very few boundaries the Agent has. He thinks he knows Lucifer well enough by now, has earned enough of his respect to at least get a small advance warning… but he’s never entirely sure.

Strong hands come to rest on Michael’s shoulders. Lucifer’s voice is a rough drawl in his ear. “Smart Mika,” he breathes. “Did you tell him he died because he threatened me, or did you just watch him bleed out and smiled that little smile of yours?”

Michael closes his eyes and swallows again. “No comment,” he breathes. He won’t admit it even on his deathbed, but the reason Alistair Picasso died at his feet was the man’s decision to go after Lucifer.

He’s _Michael’s_. No one else gets to threaten him and live.

“Got you, did I?” Lucifer breathes into his ear, sounding just a little smug. One of his hands disappears from Michael’s shoulder, and then there’s cold metal pressing into the soft flesh beneath Michael’s jaw. Michael tilts his head up a fraction and allows the shiver to run through his body. “Safeword, Mika.”

Michael licks dry lips. “Spear,” he says, and manages to make his voice sound steady. Small victories.

“Good,” Lucifer purrs into his ear, and then he’s hauled up by the jacket, pushed forwards over his desk. The gun disappears from his jaw and Lucifer walks to the side so Michael can see him with one cheek pressed to smooth wood. He makes sure Michael watches, then slowly ejects the clip to show Michael there are no bullets in it before he aims at the chair and pulls the trigger twice to make absolutely sure. Michael bites his lower lip to keep in the noise he wants to make, watching Lucifer handle his weapon with ease… and the knowledge why he did this little demonstration.

Lucifer knows despite that, judging by the smug grin. The Agent walks back around to Michael’s back, setting the gun down by Michael’s hip. His grip on Michael’s wrists is strong and sure as he pulls his arms behind his back, and then metal clinks as handcuffs are fastened around Michael’s wrists. He trembles and swallows a soft moan. Lucifer chuckles behind him. “Don’t you look pretty like this.”

Hands at his belt, then his slacks, opening and unfastening with familiar ease. Lucifer reaches in once his slacks are open far enough, cupping Michael through his boxer briefs, and the contact his enough to pull a soft noise from Michael’s throat. His hips twitch with the need to push forward, seek more friction, and Lucifer’s hand disappears. His lover ignores Michael’s soft noise of protest and pulls down slacks and underwear in one go, letting the fabric pool around his ankles and lightly taps the insides of Michael’s ankles with his foot until Michael’s legs are as far apart as the fabric allows. He’s pinned in place by Lucifer’s gaze, cuffed and spread out and bared for him, and Michael blushes furiously, knowing what kind of picture he presents. Lucifer’s appreciative hum has him blush even harder.

“Remember what you told me last time we did this?” Lucifer purrs behind him, the sound of a foil packet being opened underlining his words. “I didn’t forget, Mika… and I think you earned a reward for killing for me.”

The packet must have been lube, because the next thing Michael knows is there are slick fingers prodding at his hole, rubbing and caressing and pressing in. He grits his teeth against the moan that wants to escape and tries to glance backwards over his shoulder. “Eyes front,” Lucifer orders, and then there’s the cool barrel of the gun at Michael’s chin again, and he trembles and obeys, resting his cheek on wood again as Lucifer’s fingers slide deeper, work him open with familiar insistence. Michael’s body knows Lucifer’s touch, craves it, and despite knowing what’s coming he’s relaxing into it.

Fingers slip out of him, leaving him open and empty and _needing_. Michael’s fingers flex in their bonds as he does his best to hold still for Lucifer, feeling the heavy weight of his gaze on his back. The gun is trailed over his cheek and down his neck, then disappears. Michael holds his breath and waits and is rewarded when slick coldness prods at his hole, then _pushes_.

It’s unlike anything he’s felt before. The metal is hard and unyielding and _cold_ , and despite Lucifer having worked him open further than he usually does, it aches going in. Michael moans and trembles, his heart beating hard against his ribs. “Please,” he manages through dry lips, and Lucifer chuckles.

“Greedy little thing, so eager to be fucked with my gun… such a depraved little thing you are, Mika.”

The metal pushes in deeper, cold and hard, Lucifer working slow and careful. Michael whines softly and does his best to hold still, not push backwards and demand _more_ with his body as well as his voice. He shivers when he finally feels the trigger guard push against his hole, feeling impossibly full. The part of the barrel inside him is a lot smaller than the toys Lucifer has used on him before, but it feels huge.

Lucifer slowly pulls his gun out, one of his hands resting on Michael’s lower back now to pin him in place. Then he pushes it back in, starts to fuck Michael with his gun, and the man who owns most of the city moans and _melts_ on his desk.

Michael has no idea how long he lies there with Lucifer’s gun sliding in and out of his hole and the other man whispering filth and praise to him. He only knows his cock is rock hard where it hangs just below the edge of his desk, and his legs are trembling, and his hole is aching both from the metal and from needing _more_ when the hard barrel is removed. He moans in mixed protest and relief, clenching around nothing.

“Beautiful,” Lucifer praises, and Michael can feel himself flush again. Metal clinks on wood not far from his face, and he blinks open eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed. The groan is punched out of him.

Lucifer set his gun down right within Michael’s line of sight, the metal still shiny with the lube he used to fuck him with it, and Lucifer knows damn well what he did there. His voice is rough and smug when he speaks.

“Keep your eyes open, Mika,” he purrs. Hands squeeze Michael’s ass, slick fingers dip into his hole. Fabric rustles, and then Michael groans as the familiar heat and thickness of Lucifer’s cock pushes into his aching hole, filling him up in all the ways the gun did and more. Lucifer laughs. “So I’m better than my gun, good to know,” he teases. Michael would let him know what he thinks about that, but Lucifer doesn’t give him time to catch his breath or even form a thought. His pace is hard and unrelenting, and Michael forgets everything but how damn good it feels to be fucked like this. He’s hanging on the edge within minutes, begging without noticing.

A hand wraps around his aching cock, Lucifer’s voice tells him to “come for me, Mika. _Now_ ,” and he screams as he obeys, clenching down hard around the cock still fucking him as he spills over Lucifer’s hand and onto the floor, staring sightlessly at the gun as he convulses. Lucifer curses behind him, and then there’s warm wetness filling him, and Michael moans again, twitching in Lucifer’s hand.

They rest like that for a moment, Lucifer’s weight pressing Michael into his desk and letting him feel the cuffs around his wrists. He mewls protest when Lucifer straightens and pulls out, blushing when he immediately feels the trickle of lube and come start to leak out of him. Lucifer whistles appreciatively, and Michael twitches and gasps in surprise when something firm pushes into him and seals him up.

A plug, the tiny part of his brain still working informs him. Michael clenches around the toy and shivers.

Lucifer tugs his pants back up and into place, even fastens his belt again before he pulls Michael upright by the shoulders. He allows the mob boss to rest against him for a moment, stroking his upper arms. Michael purrs… and then trembles when Lucifer picks up his gun.

“Now,” the FBI Agent purrs into his ear, “let’s take this upstairs, Mr. Milton. I want to hear exactly what you did… and if your tale lines up with what our forensics team told me, I may just have another reward for you.”

Michael shivers at the promise in his lover’s voice and lets himself be led out of his office by his cuffed hands. This was not what he had in mind when he decided to fuck with the FBI all those years ago when Lucifer Alighieri first walked into his life… but he has to admit it’s by far the best kind.


End file.
